Hold On

Chapter 3

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"Will he be all right, Dad?"

Thank God, it's Gus again.

"I don't know, Sonny Boy."

There's a desolation in Brian's voice that cuts me to the core. I'm all right, Brian, I promise. I just need to wake up. Damn them and their drugs! I can't open my eyes, can't make my voice obey.

"I want him to be all right," Gus says.

I hear what sounds like a strangled sob and then Brian's muffled voice again. "Me, too, Gus. Me, too."

I want to scream, want to throw something to get their attention, but I'm paralyzed in voice and body. Please don't let them be gone when I wake up, please.

I want to weep with relief when I can finally open my eyes and I see Brian sitting in the chair. "Brian," I whisper.

He's on his feet in a heartbeat, leaning over my bed, his features tired and drawn.

"Justin?"

I try to manage a small smile. "I'm OK."

I can see his adam's apple bob as he swallows hard. Instead of a verbal response, he just nods once.

"Where's Gus?" I ask, my eyes moving around the room.

I hear that same strangled sound I heard earlier and turn to face him. "Brian?" I'm alarmed at the tears streaming down his face. "I'm fine, I promise. Now, where's Gus? I need to see him."

"Gus…" He swallows hard and tries again. "He… the bullet…"

"You're scaring me, Brian," I say, trying to sit up. "Where is he? Is he hurt?"

"You have to rest," he says instead of answering my question. He has a hand on my shoulder, effectively keeping me in place.

"I've been resting," I snap irritably. "I know he was here; I heard you talking to him. Bring him back, Brian."

"I can't," he chokes out on a sob.

"Why not?" I ask, dread filling up the previously empty pit in my gut. "Did the girls take him home already?"

"Justin..."

The word is filled with pain and anguish.

"Don't," I cut him off. "Don't, Brian." I'm not even sure what I'm telling him not to do. Don't tell me? Don't lie to me? Don't let me hear how irrevocably broken you sound right now?

I feel the tears threatening to fall again and I have to turn my face away, not wanting to add to the haunted look already in his eyes.

"Should I get someone?" he asks.

I turn to face him again, my cheeks wet. "Just Gus," I answer weakly.

I practically see him shatter in front of me right before he turns away and heads for the door.

Before I know it, the nurse is back.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Taylor?" she asks.

I refuse to answer. If they won't answer my questions, I'm sure as Hell not answering theirs.

"We need to run a few tests. The doctor will be in momentarily to check with you before we begin."

True to her word, the doctor enters the room a few moments later. "Mr. Taylor," he greets me. "Feeling better, I see."

"Where's Brian?" I ask.

"I asked him to wait in the corridor while I examine you," he replies. "Would you rather have him present?"

I start to nod my head, but it exacerbates the pain already present there. "Yes," I say, realizing how petulant my voice sounds but not caring.

The nurse steps out of the room and Brian follows her back in.

"Now, then," the doctor begins as Brian takes the seat the nurse motions him toward. "Let's get started, shall we?"

I want to ignore his questions, but I know that won't get me out of here any faster. I tell him the date and who's president, tell him what I remember of the previous night, which is a lot, I realize, considering my injury.

"Good, Mr. Taylor," he says before proceeding to shine a light into my eyes. "Any neck pain?"

"No," I reply succinctly.

"Very well, then, I'd like to do a CT scan just to make sure, but as I said before, you're a lucky man."

His words remind me of last time he said them - and the words he said after that. "I'll agree to the CT scan," I tell him, lifting my chin slightly in defiance. "After you let me see Gus."

I watch as the doctor glances briefly in Brian's direction. Brian only shakes his head slowly, his eyes not meeting mine.

"Mr. Taylor," the doctor says gently. "I'm sorry, but as I told you, the boy…"

"Gus," I say forcefully. "Why can't you say his name?"

"I'm sorry," he concedes. "Justin, Gus is gone. He was before he even got here. If it's any comfort, I don't believe he suffered at all."

I hear a muffled sound from Brian and turn to see him burying his head in his hands. Turning back to the doctor, I try to keep my voice from breaking. "But I heard him," I try to explain. "Right here in this room. I couldn't wake up because of the drugs, but I know I heard him." I take a shaky breath as I try to rein in the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. "Why are you doing this to me? I know what I heard."

"With an injury such as yours," the doctor begins, "hallucinations are not uncommon. When coupled with the trauma of the event resulting in said injury, it's possible that your subconscious would revert to a time previous. It's one way the mind deals with a traumatic situation such as the one you've experienced."

"What does that mean?" I ask, though I'm fairly certain I know what he's trying to tell me.

"It sounds as though you're experiencing some difficulty distinguishing reality from what you'd like it to be." he says kindly. "That's nothing to worry about, I assure you. As the shock lessens and the trauma recedes, I'm sure you'll see an improvement."

I look at Brian who stares back at me with tear-filled eyes. "It's true?" I whisper, my own tears coursing unchecked down my cheeks.

He can't answer verbally, but his nod is all the response I need. "Oh my God, Brian," I lament. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Suddenly, his arms are around me, our tears mingling, our combined sobs indistinguishable one from the other.

"I don't blame you, Justin," he whispers roughly. "Nobody blames you."

It doesn't matter, I realize, as the full weight of grief descends upon me.

I blame myself.

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